The Imposter Read Online Free PDF Page B

hallway, Alex began to feel
angry about what had happened to Angie.   For three years, Alex repeatedly
asked the hospital executive committee to at least move the psych units closer
to the main hospital, if not into the main medical complex itself.   Of course,
Don had  a shit fit over that one.   He would never tarnish his
"world-class, prestigious medical center, soon to be a health sciences
center" with the likes of the crazy lowlifes of New Orleans and criminals
with HIV.   He had even declared at the Board of Trustees’ meeting that he
would never turn CCMC into an insane asylum or increase the number of beds for
the psychiatric community.   Alex doubted if he ever knew how much he had
appalled the Board or that he had made an enemy of Monique Desmonde for life,
which was probably not a good thing.  
    Needless
to say, Alex had met massive resistance from both Favre and Montgomery, who
had  issued a joint press release suggesting that “psychiatry, while a
necessary albatross to any hospital, was CCMCs gift to the sick, poor, and
disenfranchised mental cases of New Orleans."  Monique had seethed with
anger and it had taken her and Alex several bottles of Virginia wine to settle both
of them.   Alex had always been afraid that an accident like Angie's would
happen and that someone, whether a patient, visitor, or staff member, would be
seriously attacked in or around the Pavilion.  Now it had happened.
    All
four were silent as they waited for the elevator to the ground level E.D.  The
elevator seemed to take forever as it stopped on each and every floor.   They
were met at the nursing station by Sandy Pilsner, the nursing director of the
emergency department.   Sandy eyed her friends for some nonverbal direction. 
She moved close to Bridgett, took her hand, and said, "Bridge, Angie looks
bad.   Her face is black and blue, her eyes are swollen shut and she is hard to
recognize.   We have IVs and bags of blood hanging and she has a tube down her throat
that is hooked to a machine that is breathing for her.   She'll be going up to
surgery in a few minutes.   We think she is bleeding internally because her lab
results are so bad.”
    Bridgett
smiled brightly at Sandy.  "Is Angie talking you to death.   I know how
she is.   She has never even been in the hospital, except for when Jessica was
born.   Do you think we can even count that?"  Bridgett seemed totally out
of it.
    If
Sandy was surprised at Bridgett's lack of understanding, she didn't let on.  
She said very clearly, "Angie is not talking.   She's not breathing on her
own and she cannot talk to you.   Bridge, do you understand me?   She is very
sick.  Maybe she can hear you, but she cannot talk to you.   There is also a
possibility her assailant raped her."
    Bridgett
didn't respond.  Her expression showed no emotion and her affect was flat.  
Sandy glanced at Alex and Dr.  Desmonde, who shrugged her shoulders and nodded
her head.  "Let's go, Sandy," Monique said gesturing forward with her
hand.   "We've got to break through this denial somehow." Jack's face
was impassive.   Alex knew him well enough to know that he was feeling
phenomenal stress.   She patted his hand for reassurance.
    The
sounds of the E.D., the newly renovated patients’ rooms, and the spanking clean
floors brought no comfort to Alex.   As physicians and nurses glanced at her
and offered tight smiles, she felt their pain.   They all knew Angie and many
had worked with her over the years at CCMC.   They had celebrated her graduations
from nursing school - first from Delgado at Charity Hospital and then LSU. They
had celebrated her marriage and the birth of Jessica.  They had worked side by
side with her every day.   Angie was one of the team, one of their team.   She
was their friend.   She was one of their own, one of CCMCs highly skilled and
coveted nurses, and one of the millions of caregivers all over the world who
gave